I've become a really lazy Brooklynite this summer, which means I hardly ever go into Manhattan to just screw around anymore. I really have to change that, because I'm missing a lot. For instance I don't know if the black muslim superheros are still at Union Square.

In NY, you get pretty used to all sorts of people haranguing you, or at least offering to solve your problems. Whether they be that you aren't right with jesus, or you have a distressing lack of chinese food menus, or you have so much time to spare that you need somewhere to put it all, and why not Greenpeace, these people just want to help. Usually, there sanity can be pretty well charted along an inverse continuim with there volume. From the poor mute bastards who plead with their eyes to take a menu so they don't have to do that horrible job anymore, to the fanatics screaming out bible versus with thees and thous as if an antiquated pronoun somehow gives the argument more weight, you can pretty much figure out what the agenda is from a decent distance.

The black muslim superheros were a different story. They were pretty even toned and mostly kept away from shouting, but were very commanding. They established presence mostly by, well, dressing like black muslim superheroes. I'm sure they would take offense at that, and they had some other reason for dressing the way they did, but that's pretty much the effect they gave off. They were kind of rotational, but I remember one guy with a big, cowly robe and staff. And another guy with a red pleather one piece tunic that was ripped into points at the bottom with a thick black belt and some giant gold belt buckle. Really, really serious legion of super heroes stuff.

And all of this to get your attention and let you know the truth about white people. You know, that we're evil, and deranged, and apparently some kind of mutant offspring of space aliens and retarded dogs, or something. Of course, I'd sort of check them out for a while, give a bemused chuckle and move on. I'm sure they got a lot of that.

Now I'm starting to think they're right.

You see, there's this band, Lamb of God, and they're not Christian Metal, but the other more Satany kind. And they do this thing called the 'wall of death'. And people apparently get all sorts of injuries because, for god's sake, it's the wall of death, not the wall of kittens. And they still do it. And you know, I'm really just at a loss for word here, so watch and weep for us:

http://www.ozzfest.com/timages/page/media/WallofDeath.mov
  ¶ 3:42 PM 1 comments

  Okay, let's just say, like, hypothetically, that you, and I'm not saying any names here, might be a bit of a pack rat. And let's say our nameless and totally made-up person we're talking about might have come by it honestly by being from a family of pack rats. Okay, and just for example, keeping it totally on the hypothetical tip, maybe this person might have married someone who has similar pack-ratty aptitudes from a similar source. So right there our fictional couple has some issues with stuff, right?

Alright now, and stay with me here, let's say our couple moves into a totally fictional loft where there's a lot of, not so much storage space as corners to shove things into. So you can understand that our theoretical couple might use the opportunity to expand their already prodigious collection of priceless junk, yeah? And let's say that they live right next to a group of totally fictional asshole, scumbag, dickhead DJ's who make the life of the totally not for real couple a totally for real constant battle.

So now we, I mean they, I mean... whatever, our new apartment is smaller than our last one and we have a lot of shit, okay?

What this means to us is that moving, which is trying at the best of times, has turned into an experience not unlike a major earthquake. First you have the intial shock which you try to survive as best as possible. Eating takeout, Making a space through your boxes to sleep, etc. Then, you have a series of aftershocks. The aftershocks of moving are when you decide that you want to set up a shelf, or your computer desk, or whatever. You then have to move all the boxes currently occupying that space, then scrub the floor on hands and knees to get the grime out, then set whatever up, then find the boxes that contain the items go with whatever you set up, then unpack them, then move all the other boxes into some other corner so you can get to things like the bed and the toilet.

It's paying off though. Slowly, the apartment that we want is materializing through the nightmare of boxes and bags. And the yard really helps. As do the constant ministrations of our friends. Helen again fed us copiously on Sun. What a gal.

Okay, I promise I'm going to shut up about this moving thing now. Sorry.
  ¶ 11:13 AM 0 comments